by Chris Fox
Jordan gave a tight nod, blurring a dusty path towards Trevor. Trevor turned and started towards the storm, where the strange silver ship had landed. It shuddered for a moment, then lifted off again. The ship had reached maybe a hundred feet up when a body came tumbling out of the side. Wepwawet’s body.
It impacted with a puff of dust, unmoving after the fall. Trevor blinked as the bronze skiff detached from the silver ship, zooming down to rest next to Wepwawet like a dog running to its master.
“What’s your plan?” Jordan roared over the wind, following Trevor as he made his way into the fringes of the sunstorm. The heat increased, and energy crackled all around him, though it wasn’t painful. He hoped that didn’t change. If what he’d heard of these sunstorms was accurate, they could be lethal. The way the wind already tugged insistently suggested it was going to get far worse.
“There,” Trevor said, nodding at a shape looming in the dust kicked up by the keening wind. Trevor blurred towards it, stopping next to the skiff Wepwawet had used earlier. “I’m pretty sure I can fly it if I have to.”
“You know who was on that ship, right? We could escape right now. There’s no way they could chase us,” Jordan roared back. “Let’s get the fuck out of here while we can.”
“Jordan, give me a hand with Wepwawet,” Trevor ordered.
Jordan remained where he was, slowly drawing a holstered pistol. He aimed it at Trevor’s face. “You’re not going to go, are you? You’re going to stay with Ra.”
“We can deal with that in a minute,” Trevor said, throwing Wepwawet’s body over his shoulder. He heaved himself to his feet, though it wasn’t easy. “Wep is in bad shape.”
“Not as bad as you’re going to be in,” Jordan said. The pistol boomed, and Trevor’s face exploded in agony. He tumbled backwards as several more shots found his gut. He tried to fight back, but Jordan seized his arm and broke it. A kneecap shattered.
The bracelet, my host. Use the bracelet.
Trevor felt a hot surge roll through him, and this time it wasn’t caused by the storm. Jordan had been placed in his care and, while he hadn’t wanted the responsibility, he’d done his best to protect the werewolf. Now Jordan was turning on him. It was just too much, after everything else the man had done to him. The ’65 Mustang still loomed in the back of his mind—three years of work wasted when Jordan had blown it up.
“Fuck you,” Trevor said, using the bracelet for the first time. He forced all the anger, all the resentment, into the gold band. Jordan’s back arched as if he were being electrocuted. He collapsed to his knees, then dropped face first into the dirt. Trevor staggered to his feet, favoring his injured leg. It was healing, but it and about a dozen other wounds screamed for his attention. “Now pick Wep the fuck up and carry him onto the god-damned skiff. I’m about done with your insubordinate bullshit. You understand what a chain of command is; I know you do. You might not like it, but right now you fucking work for me.” Trevor was screaming by the end, completely overwhelmed by the rage. He didn’t care. “Get the fuck up.”
Jordan staggered to his feet, hatred in his eyes. He scooped up Wepwawet and carried him to the skiff, dropping the wolf-headed god none too gently aboard.
“You’re in control right now, you fucking traitor,” Jordan rumbled, glaring at him sullenly over the rail of the skiff. He watched as Trevor leapt aboard. “Sooner or later that’s going to change, and when it does I’ll be the one to put you down. Remember that.”
“Yeah, because you’ve had so much luck before,” Trevor snarled back. “You only survived the bridge back in San Francisco because I let you. Before that, I kicked your ass in Panama. You want to try again? Give it your best fucking shot.”
Jordan lapsed into silence, and Trevor moved to what he took for a steering wheel on the center of the skiff. He placed his hands on it, wondering what the hell to do next.
Open your mind, my host. Allow the slipsail to bond with you. You will join with it, and you can use it as an extension of your body.
So Trevor opened his mind. To his surprise, he found he could feel the skiff. Some quick experimentation allowed him to levitate a few feet off the ground. He stayed low, knowing that going any higher was an invitation to destruction. The storm was on them now, and the winds even more fierce. A sound like thunder cracked above, making it brighter than day for just a moment. Then the light faded back into a muted dusk, the boiling orange clouds completely obscuring what had been noonday sun just a few moments before. Thankfully the clouds didn’t seem to be pure flame at the edge of the storm, though if the baking heat was any indication, the center of the storm was pure death.
Trevor zoomed the skiff towards the ruins dotting the area underneath Olympus. Göbekli Tepe, the place was called. That had been where Ra was making for, so that was where she was likely to go next. Assuming she survived her battle with the worm. He brought the skiff to a halt near one of the more intact buildings, then spun to face the worm.
I know what you contemplate, my host. It is foolish in the utmost. Ra does not need your help.
“Fuck you,” Trevor muttered under his breath. He turned to Jordan, raising his voice to a shout. “Take Wep into that building and wait there. If I’m not back shortly it means I’m dead, which ought to make your day.”
Jordan didn’t reply, instead scooping up Wepwawet and carrying the unconscious deity off the skiff. What the hell had kicked his ass so thoroughly that he was still out of it? Trevor could only think of one god capable of that and, given that he’d been adopted into Ra’s court, that meant Isis was now an enemy. He sure hoped he didn’t run afoul of her any time soon.
Trevor commanded the skiff to rise, then zoomed towards the worm in a spray of dust. He’d finally figured out what Ra was trying to do. Her attacks were designed to annoy, not kill. They’d agitated the worm into following her, and she’d led it away from the battle. Now it was chasing her, but even as fast as she was, he wasn’t certain she could evade it forever. It simply moved too fast, and didn’t seem to tire.
If we must do this, my host, then I will aid you. The skiff possesses weaponry. It can focus your energy into a more potent blast, one that might get the beast’s attention.
Trevor considered that as the skiff shot closer to the worm. There was something very close to a cannon strapped to the underside of the skiff, and he could somehow feel the weapon. If he fed his energy into the skiff and commanded it to fire, the weapon would apparently amplify the blast.
“All right, let’s see what this thing can do,” he muttered, though the words were torn away by the wind. Trevor shot skyward, battling the wind as he raced for the worm’s head. Most of the attacks Ra had leveled had been aimed at the softer flesh inside the worm’s mouth. He decided to do the same.
Trevor increased speed, circling up and away from the worm. Then he dove, curving earthward in a tight arc as he approached the thing’s mouth. It was beyond colossal up close, the largest thing he’d ever seen. This creature could probably devour entire skyscrapers whole, and had the breath to match. The stench was awful.
He fed some of his energy into the craft, firing a quick trio of blasts into the creature’s open maw. A bellow, even louder than the wind or the cracks of thunder above, split the air. Trevor resisted the urge to clap his hands over his ears, instead twisting the craft in midair as the creature’s mouth snapped shut where Trevor had just been.
It hurled its body at him, but he dodged to the left and poured on more speed. Jesus, the thing was just so damned massive. He urged the craft to maximum speed, biting his lip as the shadow grew larger over him. An instant before it struck, he juked left, narrowly avoiding the beast. Unfortunately, there was no way to escape the wake.
The creature sent a roiling wave of debris in his direction, rocks and dust and bodies all bouncing off the skiff. Something heavy struck him in the back, and he was knocked from the craft in a split second of absolute terror. There would be no way to escape the worm without the skiff.
Then a hand seized the scruff of his neck. He was back on the skiff, slammed down against the railing. Trevor clung to it instinctively, gazing up at his savior. Ra’s scarlet mane fluttered in the wind, dancing around her like a forest of tiny snakes. She seized the skiff’s control wheel, urging it up and away from the worm.
“Clever,” she shouted over the wind, pivoting the craft until it was in front of the worm. “You’ve enraged the worm enough that we can lead it away from the others. Once it’s far enough away we’ll take to the skies, assuming we survive the storm. Then we can circle back.”
“Won’t the worm just come back?” Trevor yelled.
“No,” Ra said, shaking her head as they raced away from the worm, away from Göbekli Tepe. “It is incredibly powerful, but not very intelligent. Once there is no obvious threat, it will return to its hunting grounds, back at the Ark of the Cradle. A good thing, too. The Kraken is the most potent of the Ark’s defenses. Isis plays the game well. She knew I couldn’t let it die, but also that I couldn’t allow it to crush my army. So she delays me, and I can do nothing save follow the course she has led me down.”
Trevor didn’t reply to that. Maybe he’d done the right thing after all. He’d proven his usefulness to Ra, but hadn’t interrupted Isis’s plan. Blair and Liz had probably made it to safety, though he had no idea where they’d go now. That was probably for the best. If he didn’t know their destination, he couldn’t betray them.
44
Power Armor
Jordan clenched his fist, growling as Trevor sped away. He watched as the skiff gained altitude, totally unsurprised when it began firing at the worm. The worm that had been crushing Ra’s army, but that was now chasing Trevor. The fucker had just saved their enemy from total destruction.
“Gahhh,” he bellowed, shattering a nearby rock with his fist. He felt so damned powerless, not just because the collar prevented him from shifting. It was also because he couldn’t stop Trevor, whose loyalties were quite obviously shifting to Ra. That would make him an enemy again, one that even Jordan had to admit was damned formidable.
“What troubles you, Ka-Dun?” a voice came from behind him.
Jordan spun, reaching for the gun belted at his side. Except his gun was gone, knocked away during the fight with Trevor. He was unarmed, for the first time since he’d become a werewolf. An old man with long, stringy white hair and a sun-weathered face stood before him—hardly a threat, though, at least not an obvious one.
“Who the fuck are you?” Jordan shot back, slipping into a combat stance.
“I could provide a litany of names, but I suspect you are a man of little patience. Please, call me Hades,” the old man said, giving a friendly nod. He leaned heavily on a simple wooden staff. “How are you called?”
“Name’s Jordan,” he growled back.
Be wary, Ka-Dun. This one is old, and very powerful. A sorcerer who styles himself a god.
“Well, Ka-Dun Jordan, I can see you have a problem. One I may be able to assist with,” the old man said, delivering a warm smile. It was somehow predatory.
“What problem might that be?” Jordan asked, narrowing his eyes behind his sunglasses. Thankfully they were wrap-around, which was the only reason the violent winds hadn’t tugged them away. A particularly violent gust knocked him a step closer to the old man.
“You’re wearing a collar of shi-dun. That means you are locked in human form, and are the plaything of the collar’s owner,” Hades said, shaking his head sadly. “If you pick up your companion and carry him below, then I will free you from the collar’s limitations.”
Jordan looked back at Ra’s army. The worm was distant now, still chasing Trevor’s skiff. That meant Ra and her troops would be here soon.
“All right, lead the way,” Jordan said, leaning down to scoop up Wepwawet’s unconscious form. The wolf-headed god gave a groan of pain, the first sign he’d exhibited that he might be returning to consciousness.
Hades turned without a word, walking quickly into a neighboring building. He moved like a much younger man, the pretense of age falling away as he quickly gained ground. Jordan struggled to keep up. He hadn’t rested well in days, and it had been over a week since he’d seen the moon. That made his burden heavier than it should have been.
They made their way deep into the earth, passing down stairways carved into rock caverns. It reminded him of a trip he’d taken to the Oregon Caves a few years back, the wet stone illuminated by a very modern flashlight Hades had withdrawn from his bedraggled robes.
“How far is it?” Jordan grunted after a particularly treacherous stairwell. It was growing hotter, and he’d begun to sweat.
“Not far,” Hades said, threading through stalactites as he crossed a wide chamber. He emerged into a room unlike any they’d passed thus far. This one had clearly been worked by human hands, far more than had been used to create the simple stairs they’d used to get down here.
The walls were smooth and flat, seamless granite extending hundreds of yards into the distance. Below was a hellish vista, huge iron cauldrons full of molten metal. The air stank of sulfur, and Jordan’s eyes stung from the heat. Dozens of uniformly black figures moved about the room. Some worked at anvils that could have come from medieval Europe, while others worked on the type of machinery he’d have expected to see at a Mohn facility.
It was an odd mix, and it raised some troubling questions. Modern machining was delicate work, and required massive factories to produce. The robotic assemblies and conveyor belts here must have been manufactured elsewhere. That meant they’d been created before the CME. How long had this place been in operation?
“This way, this way,” Hades said, beckoning Jordan to follow him into the factory. “Welcome to the Forge. It has been used for thousands of years to construct countless wonders. Even now it labors to create even greater works.”
Jordan followed, his arms burning from the strain of carrying Wepwawet’s heavy body. They threaded through the Forge, surrounded by a sea of pounding hammers and flying sparks on one side, modern robotic assemblies turning out recognizable pieces of power armor on the other. Eventually they reached the far side, where Hades finally paused. He stopped at a raised dais, where a single figure was working.
“Holy. Shit,” Jordan said, depositing Wepwawet’s body at the base of the stairs so he could get a closer look. “That’s a modified X-11. Where the hell did you get Mohn power armor?”
There were some differences, but the man-sized suit of armor was unmistakable. It was the same type he’d worn in San Diego, and later in Peru. Both times he’d fought werewolves, and both times he’d lost. That didn’t mean the suit wasn’t powerful, though. It turned a normal soldier into a formidable killing machine, and the idea that someone was still manufacturing them was troubling. Especially when that someone was a god with unknown motives.
“I see you’ve some familiarity with my work,” a man next to the armor said, rising to his feet. He was bare to the waist, his bald head slick with sweat and soot. He turned to Jordan and gave a respectful nod. “I am called Vulcan, the smith. Who might you be, little Ka-Dun?”
“Jordan,” he replied, turning his attention back to the armor. “You built the original X-11?”
“No, I’d love to claim credit, but that goes to a man from this age. What I have done is dramatically improve upon his work,” Vulcan said, crossing tree-trunk arms as he beamed a smile at his work. He patted the black metal arm. “I’ve made the metal stronger and lighter, and I’ve also insulated the internals. Sunstorms won’t affect it, nor will bursts of electricity.”
“That definitely sounds useful,” Jordan admitted. The traditional X-11s were worthless after the CME, unless Mohn had some mothballed somewhere. Even if they did, those suits could only be used until a sunstorm showed up. If they were exposed, their internals would be cooked almost instantly. “What else have you done to make it different?”
“For starters, the metal can be charged with the s
ame energy you absorb from the moon, or the deathless draw from the sun,” Vulcan explained. He removed his thick black apron, dropping the leather to the ground. “The metal is malleable when charged, which means it can shift with you. My new V-11 will turn someone like you into a one-man army. Even other champions or deathless would fear you. If you went up against someone like Anubis, I’d lay even odds a young whelp like you could take him.”
Jordan studied the armor, daring to dream a little. It would dramatically enhance his combat abilities, allowing him to make a difference against Ra. It would make him far more than a match for Trevor, too. In short, it was too good to be true.
“I feel like you’re setting me up to buy something,” Jordan said, folding his arms as he stared Vulcan down. “The armor seems amazing, but I have nothing to pay you with. How about we end the pitch, and you tell me what it’s going to take to get this collar off? That is what Hades here promised he could do.”
Hades and Vulcan shared an unreadable look. Something significant passed there, but Jordan had no idea what it was. He wasn’t all that good at the double-dealing social arena the Director had thrived in. He was a soldier, not a politician.
“It’s very simple,” Hades said, turning back to Jordan. “The collar cannot be removed, save by the person wearing the bracelet. However, its influence can be neutralized. Vulcan?”
“He’s right,” the shorter god replied, giving a tight nod as he slapped the armor with his palm. “If you wear the V-11 armor, the armor will siphon power from the collar. This process will prevent the collar from restricting your abilities, while simultaneously ensuring that the armor functions for an extended duration. In short, if you wear the armor you’ll be free from the collar. You can shift and shape as normal, so long as you wear it.”
“So I’m exchanging one prison for another then,” Jordan said, maybe with a little more hostility than he’d intended. “Let’s say I agree to this. What do you get out of it?”
